I was going to begin this review by repurposing the old dictionary joke about how the zebra did it. In the case of Remembering the Kanji book I it was the sign of the snake that did it (2042. 巳). You are right, it is a terrible joke and does not work at all here. I am glad I did not use it
I found James Heisig's Remembering the Kanji books I and II in a used-bookshop in old Tokyo town. They were a rather cheap ¥500 each—much cheaper than the £30 or ¥2000 I had seen them at before—so, despite having sworn off learning kanji as a task for one with a better brain than I myself have, I bought them as a kind of symbolic gift
I had previously tried to learn kanji a few years ago by combining study with eating fruit. The British government recommends eating five portions of fruit per day. Thus, I reasoned, if I ate a piece of fruit while learning each character, I could learn five kanji each day and become as healthy as a horse
The first few kanji one learns are the numbers one to ten. This was a handy start for my fruit-based system. The numbers one to five I remembered by associating them with the severe stomach cramps I endured from eating five bananas in a row. It turns out the British government meant five portions of different fruit each day. They should state this more clearly, I reckon. The numbers six to ten I remember as swirling hallucinations of bananas dancing in front of my eyes, forming the strokes for each character. I stopped studying kanji soon after
I then decided to learn hiragana. I admit that trying to learn kanji before hiragana is like trying to run before you can walk, but equally, learning hiragana after trying to learn kanji is like trying to run, breaking both your legs in the process and then razzing around in a snazzy new wheelchair for a couple of months. Blissful. (I haven't thought this all the way through and I have never even broken one or both of my legs and even I can see the holes in this analogy are markedly obvious if pondered for even the briefest of moments. But alas!)
I learned hiragana while working on a quiet checkout in a quiet supermarket. I linked each character with a picture-sound-word. This is pretty easy with most hiragana. と (to) looks like a toe. A perhaps unhealthy toe, but a toe nonetheless. Lets not be judgmental. く(ku) looks like the mouth of a cuckoo. し (shi) looks like and sounds like a waterfall. And so on. I learned hiragana like this in a couple of shifts at the supermarket, also benefiting from unwitting kanji review practice every time someone bought a bunch of bananas
Fast forward a year and I find myself living in Japan (if you want to know the full story please read my blog. Or simply imagine someone getting on a plane in one country and then getting off that same plane in another). I decided I should probably start trying to learn kanji again when my previous culinary skills (using the microwave) began to suffer (not being able to use the microwave)
I began to study again in earnest. This time I had a breakthrough when I realised the kanji for tree 木 kind of looks like a tree, the kanji for forest 森 is a picture of three trees, and the kanji for deep forest 森林 is five trees. Now we are talking. Now we know what's what. I could learn kanji the same way I learned hiragana. The problem comes when you realise that most kanji, with a little imaginative license, resemble trees in various states of rude or ill health. I sighed for a week and then just ran with this explanation and supposed that everything I read on advertisements while idly riding the train, or on various shop hoardings while walking around the city, every piece of writing I saw concerned the labyrinthine subject of dendrology. How nice to live in a society so preoccupied with nature
When I again found Remembering the Kanji books I and II in that used-bookshop, I was in such an arboreal haze I bought them right up, thinking ecstatically I could finally learn the names of all the different trees and various bushes and I could finally be as one with nature in this topiary city, covered as it is in metaphorical greenery
Then I remembered that the tree thing was all a nonsense
The books sat on my coffee table for a couple of weeks, unopened. A humble monument to my foolishness. They were a nice accoutrement to the room, however. If anyone had visited my apartment they might have remarked upon my studying kanji and I might have replied with a noncomittal hmmm. Luckily no-one visited. At all. And I avoided any potential embarrassment (困惑) Or conversation (会話) Or human interaction (人的交流). Or love (愛). Phew (やれやれ)
I began to flick through the first book (book I) as a way of cooling myself in the ridiculous heat of the encroaching summer. Naturally I started to read a couple of entries and found myself recalling the meanings a couple of days later when viewed out in the wild
Unwittingly, during my earlier kanji and hiragana study I had been following the technique outlined by Heisig in his books without even knowing it. Only he uses more interesting stories and less bananas. His technique is to attach a little story to each kanji to help it embed it in your memory, and then, when that kanji is embedded within another kanji, he elaborates on the story. It works rather well, I find
The only criticism I have of the books thus far is that they are a little big and unwieldy to carry around in one's satchel in the heat of a Japanese summer—especially with the addition of an obligatory notebook. During a summer in which even the slightest thought of excess physical exertion leaves one in a sweat, when passing through the heat-blast exhaust of an idling bus leaves you wanting to throw yourself beneath its wheels, having an even slightly heavy book in your bag can colour the day in the most unflattering ways. Other than that they are most useful, beautiful books which might just end up changing my life and allow me to again use the microwave. Winter will soon be on its way, and my porridge oats will not warm themselves